Chapter 77

           

           RobertLangdonstaggeredintotheprivatebathroomadjoiningtheOfficeofthePope.Hedabbedthebloodfromhisfaceandlips.Thebloodwasnothisown.ItwasthatofCardinalLamassé,whohadjustdiedhorriblyinthecrowdedsquareoutsidetheVatican.Virginsacrificesonthealtarsofscience.Sofar,theHassassinhadmadegoodonhisthreat.

           Langdonfeltpowerlessashegazedintothemirror.Hiseyesweredrawn,andstubblehadbeguntodarkenhischeeks.Theroomaroundhimwasimmaculateandlavish—blackmarblewithgoldfixtures,cottontowels,andscentedhandsoaps.

           Langdontriedtoridhismindofthebloodybrandhehadjustseen.Air.Theimagestuck.Hehadwitnessedthreeambigramssincewakingupthismorning…andheknewthereweretwomorecoming.

           Outsidethedoor,itsoundedasifOlivetti,thecamerlegno,andCaptainRocherweredebatingwhattodonext.Apparently,theantimattersearchhadturnedupnothingsofar.Eithertheguardshadmissedthecanister,ortheintruderhadgottendeeperinsidetheVaticanthanCommanderOlivettihadbeenwillingtoentertain.

           Langdondriedhishandsandface.Thenheturnedandlookedforaurinal.Nourinal.Justabowl.Heliftedthelid.

           Ashestoodthere,tensionebbingfromhisbody,agiddywaveofexhaustionshudderedthroughhiscore.Theemotionsknottinghischestweresomany,soincongruous.Hewasfatigued,runningonnofoodorsleep,walkingthePathofIllumination,traumatizedbytwobrutalmurders.Langdonfeltadeepeninghorroroverthepossibleoutcomeofthisdrama.

           Think,hetoldhimself.Hismindwasblank

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